


Best Birthday Present Ever

by brittanafan



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, F/F, F/M, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Non Consensual, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape, Rape Fantasy, Rape Role-play, Sexual Violence, Slut Shaming, Triple Penetration, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittanafan/pseuds/brittanafan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a present to Santana on her 25th birthday, Brittany orchestrates an elaborate scheme to fulfill one of her girlfriends secret fantasies. Fic involves rape-role play. </p><p>Please read the note at the beginning for a larger summary and additional warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about Brittany providing a realistic rape fantasy role play scene for Santana for her birthday. It will read as if it is straight non-con, because Santana, who's POV it is from, is not aware that it is staged. It will be dark, and graphic and angsty and is definitely not for everybody. Please do not continue to read if this summary, or any of the kinks listed are likely to upset you.

It's hard to believe you're actually a quarter of a century old now. The past twenty five years seem to have gone by in the blink of an eye. Where once you were a nobody from nowhere, Ohio, you're now one of the biggest actors on prime-time television.

Of course, other things have changed for you over the years. The most notable would be your attraction to girls. Or more accurately, your admittance to your attraction to girls. It all started back in high school when your best friend, Brittany S. Pierce, started to become something more than just your  _best friend._ It had taken you till your senior year to finally admit your feelings for the girl, and now, nearly 7 years later, you're both out and definitely proud.

"Nuh-uh, no drinks yet. Not until the boys get here." Your best friend, aka your girlfriend, reprimands you from her position pressed against your arched back. "I'm serious San..."

You whine melodramatically at this, releasing the bottle of Grey Goose you'd been reaching over the unattended bar for. It's already half past ten, and other than a few sips of wine during dinner, you hadn't been allowed  _any_  alcohol yet.

"This is so unfair." You stand up straight and lean back into your girlfriends arms, your eyes roaming over all the top shelf spirits sitting just outside your reach. It had been your girlfriends idea to book the entire VIP lounge for your private party, but besides yourself and Brittany, only Quinn and Rachel had shown up yet. You were actually surprised that nearly everyone from your old high school glee club had RSVP'd to your party. LA was a long way from NYC, which is where most of your friends currently resided.

The music from the club below is practically shaking the floor and walls, and you roll your eyes at the thought that your friends are probably still on the dance floor. Well, at least  _some_  of the guys. You doubt Finn would go anywhere  _near_  the dance floor. In fact, you doubt Finn was even going to show up.

You're brought out of your thoughts at the feel of a hand on your stomach and you glance down, smiling at the sight of a pale arm inching downwards towards the hem of your red, satin dress. Spreading your thighs subconsciously, you let out another unappreciative whine when your girlfriend pulls away completely and turns you around to face her.

"Briiiiittaaannnyyyy..." you pout, trying to press yourself against her front. She's in a stunning, black, sparkly number, that creates and shows off an amazingly enticing amount of cleavage. If not for your two best friends watching you from where they sat on one of the lounges many leather sofa's, you'd have already submerged your face between the blondes perfect breasts.

"San, baby..." She's pushing at you tho, keeping your body from rubbing against hers, or making any real contact whatsoever. Overcome with sudden frustration, you step back and turn towards the bar, grabbing the first bottle that your outstretched hand finds. It's  _your_  birthday. How dare she deny you both sex  _and_  booze?

Tilting your head back, you barely manage to ingest a mouthful before the liquor is once again taken from you. "Okay, seriously Brit, what the fuck?" You cry out, no longer interested in pandering to your girlfriend's bizarre desire for you to remain sober until all of your friends have arrived.

Sure, you've been known to get a little  _wild and crazy_  under the influence, but who honestly hasn't? You're young and sexy and it's your birthday for fucks sake. Not to mention the fact that you'd agreed to having a _private_  party out of earshot and eyesight of crazy fans and even crazier reporters.

Brittany sets the alcohol back down and you watch as she shares a brief look with both of your friends before turning back to you. You're about to protest again when her hand comes up and she presses a single finger over your lips, effectively silencing you.

"You agreed that I could plan your party." She starts, and you roll your eyes, not seeing how keeping you from having any fun could possibly be part of her plans. "Right?" She's looking at you intently now, and you give in and nod.

"Then answer me this, do you trust me?" You start to nod immediately, but she simply takes your cheeks into her palms and leans in closer until she's maybe an inch or so from your face. "I mean it, San. Do. You. Trust. Me?"

Her emphasis on those last four words combined with her sudden, intense gaze, unnerves you, but doesn't sway your answer in the slightest. You trust Brittany more than you've ever trusted anyone. More than you trust yourself, sometimes.

"Yes, I trust you." You finally respond, all thoughts of asking where this sudden seriousness came from fleeing your mind as you feel her lips press to yours. Smiling into the kiss, you feel your body relax completely as she pulls you into her arms; your chests pressed against each others as your hearts beat in sync.

She breaks the kiss first, and when you open your eyes, you realize that she's somehow walked you away from the bar and more towards the center of the room. She's also turned you around, so you can no longer see your two friends and former glee-mates. Not that you'd care if they were watching the two of you. After four years of high school and being on the same Cheerleading squad, it isn't anything they haven't already seen. Well, at least that Quinn hasn't seen.

Realizing now that perhaps it's a  _good_  thing no one else has shown up yet, you lean forward for another kiss, stopping short when a noise unlike any you've ever heard before escapes your girlfriends lips. Freezing on the spot, you shoot your eyes up to Brittany's, your confusion turning to panic at the terrified expression you see there.

"What-" She shuts you off with a rapid shake of her head; her hands that had been resting gently on your hips now gripping you hard enough to bruise. Suddenly there's a scream, followed by another, and then the distinct sound of a door being slammed shut.

"Brittany..." You whimper, your body practically immobile against your girlfriends as you watch her eyes tracking something or  _someone_ moving behind you. Before you can even register a new set of hands on your waist, you're being pulled backwards and out of your girlfriends arms.

Beginning to flail, you frantically try and break free from this unknown person's strong grasp, your own screams mixing with your friends, though easily being drowned out by the music from the club below.

In your effort to fight off your attacker, you soon lose track of your girlfriend and a terror unlike any you've ever felt before washes over you. Stilling for half a second, you have just enough time to turn your head before you're being thrust against the nearest wall.

Losing the air from your lungs, you gasp and pant pathetically as you try and dislodge the enormous body keeping you pressed into the wall. If the figure's size and strength hadn't given away that they were male, the distinct bulge now grinding into your lower back would have.

Someone is still screaming from across the room, but you can't tell if it's one of your friends or your girlfriend. You know it's wrong, and you instantly feel guilty for thinking it, but a small part of you is hoping that it's Rachel or Quinn and that Brittany had somehow managed to escape the room.

Your hopes are quickly dashed when you hear your girlfriend's distinct voice shouting your name, only to be followed by a violent crash and a pain-filled cry. Straining your ears, you aren't able to make out any more struggling and your heart sinks deeper into your chest.

Giving up your feeble resistance, you allow your body to fall slack in between the wall and your attacker; their chest forcibly pressed into your shoulders all that's keeping you from collapsing to the floor in defeat.


	2. Chapter Two

Seconds seem to turn into minutes as you wait for something,  _anything_  to happen. The man behind you has yet to speak, though his intentions are becoming more and more clear as his hips begin to periodically thrust into yours. "Please don't do this..." You find yourself whimpering, though doubt that he can hear you over the music.

There's a moment when his massive frame stills, but before you can hope that he's changed his mind, a low, gravely voice starts to speak into your ear, "My friends and I are really big fans of yours..." Goosebumps spring up all over your body as his face inches closer to yours. You can't see him through the vail of your own hair covering your face, but you can more than sense him.

"We drove all the way across the state to be here... to meet you... to wish you a happy birthday." His hips are still rocking into you as he continues to speak, "so you can imagine our disappointment when we find out your party was 'invite only'." There's a hand now on your forehead, thick fingers pulling your overgrown bangs to the side and revealing himself to you.

He's wearing what looks like a ski-mask, though the fabric isn't knit and heavy like a traditional one. You don't know if this makes things worse, or better, though. If he cared about you seeing his face, then that at least meant he didn't intend to kill you. Still, you find yourself crying just as hard as the hand that had moved aside your hair begins to trail down your neck and shoulder and around to your side.

"You must think you're hot shit, buying out this entire room." He's still speaking, though you're attention is more focused on the hand trying to worm it's way in-between your chest and the wall. He lets his body up a little, allowing him easier access to start groping you through your dress. "But what about your fans, Ms. Lopez? What about those that got you here?"

With his body no longer holding yours upright, you begin to sag downwards, stopping from collapsing completely by his other hand, now wound painfully into your hair. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry." You repeat over and over as the seriousness of the situation fully sinks in. This guy is one of your crazy, obsessive fans, and he thinks you've wronged him.

"I know... I know..." If not for his volume, it would have almost sounded like he was cooing to you in the way a parent would to a distraught child. "So we've decided to teach you some humility... You can look at it as a birthday present from your fans."

Before you can digest his words, he's pulling you backwards, away from the wall, and into his equally as confining embrace. Still sobbing freely, you allow him to slowly turn you around and the resignation that you had started succumbing to completely leaves your body at the sight before you.

Besides the man holding you, there's another four figures dressed entirely in black, each with modified ski masks hiding their identity. But it's not their presence alone that terrifies you, it's the fact that in their arms are your friends and girlfriend, all three looking roughed up and just as terrified as you.

"No! Please no... please, not them... not them too..." You start to cry, struggling once more in your captors arms. You can't let this happen to them. You can't let them get hurt because of your ego. Even though you know these men are crazy, you can't help but feel responsible for setting them off.

"Yes, Ms. Lopez.  _Them too_." The man holding you sneers, and the next thing you know, you're being pushed forward and onto the floor in the center of the room.

Thankfully the VIP room is carpeted, so the dated white shag helps cushion your fall. Now on your hands and knees, you barely have a second to get your bearings before a set of hands is once more on your hips, this time flipping you onto your back, pinning you down.

"Stop! Please!" You're still crying, though in your heart you know it's useless. There's no way that anyone outside of the room will be able to hear you, and unless your friends finally arrive, only to notice that the room is locked, there's not going to be anyone coming to your rescue.

As if reading your thoughts, one of the other men comes into your field of vision, in his hands what looks to be Brittany's cell phone. "You can forget about your friends saving you. I just sent them a mass txt saying that you weren't feeling well and that you were canceling your party."

You watch the man pocket your girlfriends phone before shifting your gaze to the blonde herself. She, along with Rachel and Quinn, are currently sitting on the rooms largest couch, each in the lap of one of the three remaining men. You know that they've struggled; their torn clothing and wild hair clear evidence of that.

Brittany is the only one that seems to still be struggling, though the man's arm around her torso and his hand over her mouth are more than effective at keeping her contained. You can tell she's trying to get your attention, but you're afraid if you make eye contact, that you'll lose it even further. You know these men are going to rape you in front of her. In front of your friends. You don't need her own fear for you to confirm it.

Next to Brittany is Rachel, who looks positively dwarfed in the lap of the man restraining her. Her body is practically convulsing as she sobs, her gaze thankfully on the floor and not on you. Quinn isn't looking at you either, but at her girlfriend next to her, making you feel ten times worse for being the cause of their pain.

"You'll have plenty of time to look at them later, when we're through with you." Your original attacker is talking again, his hand gripping your chin and directing your attention upwards, where he's hovering over your trembling body. "Though now might be a good time to warn you, that if you don't do as we ask, or try and harm us in any way, we will do to them  _much worse_  than we intend to do to you."

Your stomach flip flops as you feel the nausea build. You can't let that happen. You  _won't_  let that happen. The man doesn't seem to be waiting for a response, but you take it upon yourself to nod anyway, praying that he'll stay true to his word and not touch them if you cooperate. "Good. Now that that's settled... I think it's time we start unwrapping your present."

His hand leaves your face to travel roughly down your body, searching your dress for some way of removing it. It doesn't take him long to find the zipper down your right side, and you clench your eyes shut as he quickly yanks it open. The zipper doesn't extend all the way down, so with his strong hands, he rips the fabric the last few inches.

As if actually unwrapping a gift, he slowly lifts the front of your dress off your body, laying the useless material next to you on the carpet. "Best birthday present ever, eh boys?" He laughs, sending shivers up and down your body. Your dress was tight enough that you didn't need to wear a bra with it, so other than your small, lacy thong, you're completely naked and exposed.


	3. Chapter Three

Trying not to think about the hands tugging at your panties, you let your mind wander, wondering if this is what people meant when they talked about being naked as being in your 'birthday suit'. All too quickly tho, your attention is brought back to the present when you feel a pair of hands pushing at your thighs, spreading your legs for everyone in the room to see.

You've never been a big fan of modesty, not around your friends at least. You couldn't even imagine trying to count the number of times you've been walked in on while naked. Or more likely, you and Brittany naked. It was a particularly repetitive incident during your time on the Cheerios, as you often had to share a hotel room while away at competitions with more than just your girlfriend.

This isn't like that though. This isn't Quinn walking in on you and Brittany getting handsy in the locker room showers, or Rachel finding you masturbating in the choir room during one of your free periods. This is humiliating and demeaning and you don't think you've ever felt more vulnerable in your life.

"Would you look at that, guys. Seems our little diva here is enjoying her present as much as we are." The man between your legs is laughing, and when you feel a large, calloused finger dip between your folds, you are hit with the sudden realization that you had been wrong. As mortifying as the thought is, of your friends watching you being violated, you know that there's something much worse than that.

Pressing both your palms to your face, you attempt to hide your shame as your body reacts to the stimulation the man is providing between your thighs. You don't want this.  _Any_  of this. But the growing wetness coating the mans exploring fingers proves otherwise, and the last thing you want your girlfriend and friends to find out is that, somewhere deep inside, a part of you is enjoying this.

It's wrong and disgusting and you would rather die than have them discover this about you. At least, Rachel and Quinn. Brittany already knows about your morbid fascination with being raped; having accidentally told her all about your reoccurring and distressing fantasies one night while completely drunk. She hadn't judged you then, but talking about something and actually experiencing it were two completely different things.

"She's fucking soaked..." His voice destroys you even further, because you know it's true. That being said, you still don't want this. If you thought you had any chance of getting away, you'd still be fighting against him. But there's five of them and only four of you and you don't doubt he'd carry through with his threat on hurting your friends. You're trapped, literally, and no matter what you do, your friends are never going to look at you the same way again.

To make matters worse, your rapist seems to understand the turmoil going on inside of you, and seems intent on exploiting it. "I think she's gonna come." He sounds amused and the other men in the room start to laugh and egg him on.

Words like 'slut' and 'whore' are being thrown at you as the man starts to manipulate your swollen and sensitive clit. The fact that he hasn't even penetrated you yet only makes it worse. You can feel your orgasm building, and no matter how hard you try and command your body not to, you've begun to whimper and pant in anticipation.

Needing to concentrate on something other than your arousal, you try and pick out Brittany's muffled protests from the noises the other two girls are making. The men are obviously still trying to keep them quiet, though you know that won't last forever, not if they intend on 'participating' as well.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? You just  _love_  being the center of attention." His taunts hit way too close to home, only furthering your shame as he continues rubbing his fingers through your slick sex. Your hips betray you next, thrusting upwards against your will; seeking out your abusers hand as if it were your girlfriends.

That last thought stays with you as the inevitable finally happens; as your climax hits you like a ton of bricks, knocking your breath from your lungs as you plead once more for him to stop. It's too late though, and all you can do is try to muffle your groans into the heel of your hands as your body quakes with undesired pleasure.

"Did you enjoy that, Blondie? Did you like watching your girlfriend come apart under my touch?" You moan into your hands at the question; this man seeming to know exactly how to hurt you the most. His hands are no longer on you though, so you take this opportunity to roll onto your side, facing away from your friends, and curl up into a tight ball.

"You're sick, you know that!" Brittany's freed voice rings out, and even though she's shouting at your attacker, you can't help but feel as if her words are directed at you. You'd just orgasmed while being raped. She may not have judged you before, when you'd drunkenly confessed your disturbing and mortifying secret, but there's no way she can't not be disgusted with you now.

"I'm sick? I'm not the one getting all hot and bothered by a total stranger while my friends watch. No wait. Actually, I guess I am." The amusement in his voice turns darker, and even though you can't see him, you know that he's referring to his own arousal. From what you remember of it pressing against your back, you know that  _he_  has nothing to be embarrassed about.

"Please don't do this to her, please!" You wince at the pain in Brittany's voice, wishing you had enough courage to face her and tell her it's okay to let it happen. That she doesn't have to fight for you, not anymore. "Santana, baby, please... please look at me. I love you. It's going to be okay, I promise."

"Doesn't look like she's listening." The man responds when you make no move to uncurl or turn over. You don't even cry out when his hands find themselves on your shoulders, tugging you upwards and thrusting you towards the couch where your friends and other spectators sat. "She said, she wants you to look at her."

You don't fight him as he grips the back of your neck, practically pushing you into your girlfriends lap. Brittany is still being restrained by one of the men, though her efforts to break free have started again. You can't look at her tho, so choose to stare at the sparkly black fabric covering her stomach as she begs you to say something,  _anything,_ to let her know that you're okay.

You can hear your friends shouting or crying against the hands that must still be silencing them, and pray that they continue to not watch what is happening to you. You can feel the man moving around behind you, shifting you up onto your knees while continuing to keep you bent over into Brittany's lap.

"Guess she doesn't feel like talking." He responds once more for you, his hands leaving your body once he's finished positioning you to his liking. You already have a horrible sense of what's about to happen; your suspicions only confirmed when moments later you can hear him fumbling to undo his pants. "But don't worry your pretty blonde head. I'm sure I can get her talking again. Or at least, screaming."


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter gets a bit brutal...

You're determined to prove him wrong about this, so when you feel the head of his enormous dick pushing into you, you refuse to scream, or make any sort of noise at all. Instead, you bury your face into your girlfriends thigh and bite down on the sensitive flesh of her lap. You really don't mean to, but it's either that or voicing aloud your agony at being so roughly penetrated by the man.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you continue to breathe through your nose as your insides feel like they are being split in two. You're no stranger to this type of sex, having had your fair share of boyfriends in the past. Not to mention the numerous toys you and Brittany had accumulated over the past few years. But this man has to be larger than any toy in your collection, and despite your ample wetness, it's still one of the worst pains you've ever felt.

"God, she's so fucking tight." His voice is strained and his fingers dig into your hips as he starts to thrust shallowly into you. Unclenching your jaw from around your girlfriends flesh, you give up and start to sob; your cries soon falling in sync with his harsh movements.

It's too much. It hurts too much. It feels like your insides are being rearranged as he finally bottoms out, his thighs pressing against your backside. "Oh fuck, I could do this all night long." He groans as he starts up a steady but forceful rhythm. Each time he thrusts forward, your entire body shifts until you have no choice but to bend your neck, resting the side of your face against Brittany's heaving stomach.

It's only then that you notice a gentle set of hands on your upper body; soft fingers moving delicately over your shoulders and neck and up through your hair. You realize it's Brittany trying to comfort you, her captor for whatever reason giving her the extra freedom of movement. It's not helping though. All you want to do is scream at her to stop touching you, to take this opportunity and try to escape; to save herself, to save your friends.

"It's okay baby, I'm here... I'm here..." Her words are even more excruciating than her hands, but you simply don't have it in you to tell her to stop. Or worse, to reassure her. To tell her that it doesn't matter what's happening to you as long as she's safe. You don't want this to be happening to you, but even more than that, you don't want this to be happening to  _her_.

Giving up trying to rationalize any of this, you simply press your face into the rough fabric of her dress and let her try and soothe you. Eventually the man's thrusts start to become more erratic, signaling his nearness to release. It's then that you remember that you're not on the pill, having no need for it in your current relationship.

You want to beg him not to come inside of you, but you've watched enough medical drama's to know that he doesn't have to for you to still become pregnant. You're pretty sure he wouldn't listen to you anyway. Instead, you simply hold your breath and pray to every God you can think of not to let this night turn even more tragic. You hate the thought of killing an innocent life, but you could never have this man's baby and be able to live with yourself.

Half a dozen thrusts later and he's coming inside of you, spilling his hopefully non-fertile seed practically into your womb itself. The only comfort you can take from this is that at least it's over; that at any moment he's going to pull out and the searing pain between your thighs will finally go away. Of course, it shouldn't surprise you that you end up only half right.

He  _does_  eventually pull out, but that much needed relief is almost immediately overshadowed by an even worse agony than before. There's something inside of you again, and this time it's even bigger than his cock.

"Stop it! You're hurting her!" You don't know who's screaming louder: Brittany, at the man, or yourself, at the pain of what you can only guess is his fist being forced into you. "Stop it! Stop it! Please!" The hands that had been so recently trying to soothe you are now tugging at your body, trying to pull you further into her lap and away from his invading hands.

You feel like a rag-doll in some sick version of a human tug-o-war. Whoever had originally been restraining your girlfriend is now trying to remove her hold on you, but as soon as one of her hands leaves your body, two more are added as all hell seems to break loose on the couch beside you.

Opening your eyes for the first time since the man had started raping you, you are shocked to see all three of your friends fighting against their captors in order to reach you. To try and save you from your tormentor who's hand has suddenly made it past your opening; his clenched fist now buried deep inside of you.

Whether it's the blood curdling scream you let out, or the vision itself of his arm practically devoured between your thighs, your friends suddenly stop fighting. You catch Rachel's horrified expression first, the girls hands pressed to her mouth as she tries to keep from throwing up. Next to her, Quinn is rapidly shifting her gaze from your attacker to Brittany and back again; her mouth parted in some form of aborted protest.

You look at Brittany last, your eyes connecting with hers for the first time since all of this had started. She seems frozen in the moment tho; one hand clenched over her chest while the other remains firmly wrapped around your closest upper arm. No one appears to be breathing, and the only sound you can hear is the rushing of blood past your ears.

Then it's as if everything is happening in slow motion. You watch as Brittany practically vaults herself off of the couch, easily breaking free of her stunned captor's hold. With her body no longer beneath you, you find yourself falling forward onto the couch, the sudden movement resulting in an excrutiating amount of pain to explode from within your gut.

She must have tackled the man, knocking him in the opposite direction, because in the next moment you swear your body has been ripped apart as his hand is wrenched from its spot inside of you. Your body heaves as you immediately begin to vomit up your dinner; your mind unable to process anything else at this point. You're pretty certain you're going to pass out, and you almost welcome it.

Almost, though. Because even though you're teetering on the edge of darkness, you can hear your girlfriend and your rapist fighting somewhere behind you. She's screaming at him things you can't decipher; things that don't make sense in your current state of agony and half consciousness. You've stopped heaving at this point, and with no one holding onto you anymore, you soon collapse to the carpet below.


	5. Chapter Five

The first thing you notice when you slowly start to come to, is that you are laying horizontal on a sweaty, sticky surface, and that a strong pair of arms are wrapped around your back. Crying out on instinct, you don't even bother opening your eyes until the last thing you were expecting makes contact with your cheek.

It's a set of lips. Small, delicate, feminine. "Brit.. Brittany..?" You half moan, half gasp as you feel your girlfriends body push closer to yours, enveloping you even further into her embrace. You don't know what's going on. The last thing you remember is throwing up and collapsing on the floor. How did you get to be on the couch, safe, and in your girlfriends arms?

"Shhh baby, I'm here... it's okay." Her voice soothes you for the first time that night, and you slowly allow yourself to open your eyes. You're laying on one of the lounges couches; your girlfriend squished in between your body and the cushions. There's no movement or sound in the room that you can distinguish over the continual roar of the music from the club.

"What... I don't..." You feel yourself start to cry, your emotions even more fragile than your body at this point. You have no idea where Quinn or Rachel are, or what happened to your rapist and his buddies. Were they still in the room? Had they harmed your friends after you'd passed out? How long had you even been unconscious for?

Brittany only continues to murmur soft, reassuring words to you; her hands rubbing over your bare back and shoulders beneath whatever blanket you now realize is covering you. Giving up on answers, you simply bury your face into your lovers chest and continue to weep.

After what seems like hours, you've finally calmed down enough to try and make sense of what had happened that night. Your concern over the condition of your friends only continues to grow the longer they remain unspoken of. Except, as badly as you need to know these things, you still find yourself unable to speak.

"Santana..." Your girlfriend thankfully breaks the silence first, dislodging your head from her body so she can look you in the eyes. You can tell she's been crying too, and without thinking, you've begun to wipe at the dampness that still remains on her cheeks. She can't help but smile at this, and you hesitantly return the gesture.

"Do you remember this past New Years Eve?" Her question seems to come from left field, and you wrinkle your eyebrows in confusion. "The party that we had attended? How drunk you had been?" You vaguely remember this incident, but still don't understand why she's bringing it up. "Do you remember the conversation we had that night? When I'd gotten you home?"

You sort of do, but also don't. At least, you don't remember any part of a conversation that would have been relevant to what had just happened. Instead of voicing this though, you simply continue to stare at her and hope that finally she'll get to the point.

Sighing, Brittany starts to brush her fingers through your hair, and you try your best to take comfort from her touch, but in the back of your mind all you can think about is the man's hand wound tightly into your hair, pushing you into your girlfriends lap so he can more easily rape you.

"You told me about these thoughts you'd been having. About these fantasies..." Her voice trails off as your face contorts in sudden understanding. You remember that conversation now. Or at least, what your girlfriend had told you about it the next day while she helped you nurse a horrible hangover.

"No... No..." You start to tremble, shaking your head back and forth as everything around you seems to fall apart once again. You had told her about your curiosity with rape, or more specifically, with rape role play and fantasies. You had told her how you sometimes imagined what it would feel like to be raped yourself, often by multiple guys at the same time.

"I didn't..." You ball your hands into fists and press them into her chest, clenching your eyes as you fight off the overpowering urge to vomit once more. You had told her that you sometimes thought about asking some of your guy friends to act out such a scene with you. And how the only reason you hadn't gone through with it was because you didn't think that she would understand or be okay with letting it happen.

"Santana, baby, it's okay. Please, try and listen to me." Brittany pleads with you, but you aren't having any of it. That intense fear that had gripped you, back when the man was forcibly bringing you to orgasm, has returned; but this time you know that what you were afraid of is actually  _true_.

As violent and painful and horrifying as the attack had been, a part of you, deep inside, had actually liked it. It was disgusting and dirty and shameful, and your body still throbbed with the terrible ache of what that man had done between your legs; but as humiliated as you are over the fact that you had enjoyed what he had done to you, even worse is the knowledge that Brittany knows you had enjoyed it too.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." You repeat over and over as you alternate between clutching desperately at Brittany's dress, and pounding your fists into her chest. She doesn't seem to know how to react to you, so just lets you continue to vent; her hands never leaving your back as she continues trying to soothe away your pain.

"I can't... I can't help..." You want to tell her that your unacceptable response was out of your control. That it was your body that had reacted, independent of your mind. But you know she knows that that's not true. You know that she knows the  _truth_.

"No, honey, listen to me. It's  _okay_. I promise. No one's judging you. You didn't do anything wrong." You pause at this, biting down hard on your lower lip to keep your sobs in check as you try and comprehend what she'd just said. No one was judging you? Who did she mean? Herself? Or herself and...

"Oh God." You let out a low, agonizing moan as it dawns on you the full horror of your predicament. "Quinn and Rachel... Do they... Do they know?" You lift your eyes to hers once more, holding your breath as you wait for the answer that you already know in your gut. Your friends had just watched you getting off to being raped.

Brittany doesn't answer right away, breaking eye contact briefly to look at something, or more likely, _someone_ , somewhere behind you. You know immediately who she's looking at, and your face burns in overwhelming shame as she eventually turns her attention back on you. "Yeah, San. They know. I mean, I kinda  _had_  to tell them..."

She doesn't seem to grasp the seriousness of this revelation; her voice and expression seemingly more confused than apologetic. It's as if she doesn't understand why you would even _ask_  that, or more likely, why the answer would bother you so much. Then again, you don't suppose she  _could_  understand how you're feeling. She's never had such a personal, private,  _disgusting_  part of herself put on display for her friends and lover to scrutinize.

"It's okay, Santana. Really..." Quinn's voice rings out, and you find yourself burying your face once more into your girlfriends chest. You can't look at the girl. You can't stand the thought of discovering how she must really feel about you now. You think you hear Rachel's voice echoing her statement, but their words mean nothing to you. How could it be  _okay_?

Thankfully, your lack of response leads both girls to refrain from any further conversation with you. You know Brittany is speaking to them though, since her chest is vibrating against the cheek you currently have pressed to it. You aren't listening to what she's saying though, knowing there's nothing that  _could_  be said to make this all go away.

Eventually she finishes talking, and her attention turns once more to you. "Santana, sweety, I need you to answer something for me. And I need it to be the truth. Okay?" Her voice is softer than before, and despite yourself, you start to relax in her arms as you bring your eyes once again to her face. Lifting a hand, she brushes at the wetness still coating your cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You don't kiss back, but simply let yourself be comforted by her gesture. If you close your eyes and try hard enough, you can almost imagine that you're actually in your bed back in your apartment, and not on a fluid stained couch in the lounge of a random night club. "I need to know if you want to continue."

Her question hits you even harder than your orgasm had, and you immediately begin gasping for breath at the implications behind her words. She couldn't be, could she? Could she really be asking if you wanted to break up with her? The terror in your eyes must be obvious, because she's instantly pulling you closer, murmuring softly against the back of your head.

How could you possibly answer that? You know that there's nothing you can say that would prove to her just how much you love her, and how badly you don't want this to tear the two of you apart. Clutching once more to her dress, you open your mouth to respond but only sobs make it out. Whimpering in frustration and growing panic, you finally manage to get out a response.

"Please... please don't leave me..." You whisper, then wait a moment before repeating yourself a little bit louder. She needs to know. She need to know how much you need her. How much you need her to stay with you. Nodding your head almost frantically, you stare across at the girl as you continue to beg; your voice growing louder and more desperate each passing second. "I do... I do... Just... please, Brittany... please don't leave me..."

It doesn't take long for her to respond; her hands moving to cover yours, gripping them tightly against her chest. "Okay baby... Okay... I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I'll be here the whole time... I would never leave you..." She's smiling at you now, and you finally begin to calm down and smile back at her. Taking a brief second to glance over your head, she slowly leans in and presses her lips once more to yours.

Kissing back this time, you whimper softly when all too soon she's pulling away. Shifting your eyes downward, you focus on her lips just as she mouths the words 'I love you'. Heart now fluttering in your chest, you part your own lips in order to return the sentiment, only to be cut off when a hand that you had hoped never to see again comes crashing down over your mouth, silencing your screams as your body is yanked out of your girlfriend's arms and off of the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, incase some of you don't understand what just happened:
> 
> Brittany thinks Santana understands that the whole thing was staged. That the rape wasn't real. Santana, however, thinks Brittany was simply bringing up her fantasies because she noticed that she was enjoying it. So while Santana is trying to convince Brittany that she *didn't* enjoy it, and that she *doesn't* want Brittany to leave her over this, Brittany thinks Santana is giving her the "okay" to continue with the role play, as long as she stays with her during it.
> 
> It's going to really suck for both of them when all of this is over and they realize that the other wasn't actually on the same page as them. And yes, I suppose this does amount to actual non-con now. Angst.


End file.
